


Handiwork

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji asks Taka if he can photograph him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handiwork

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://crocoduck.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://crocoduck.livejournal.com/)**crocoduck** in 2007.

When Fuji calls Taka for the first time, Taka can't quite figure out why the conversation has absolutely nothing to do with tennis.

"I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me photograph you while you're preparing sushi, Taka-san," Fuji says, and Taka shakes himself out of whatever daze he was falling into and stutters. Fuji's voice has a tendency to do that to him.

"You what?" Taka says. He's grateful to be doing homework rather than something potentially dangerous, like cutting salmon. Slipping up with a pencil is less serious than slipping up with a knife.

"Your hands in particular," Fuji says, and Taka has a perfect image in his head Fuji's smile as he speaks. It makes him shiver.

"Why?" Taka puts his pencil down and stares at his algebra.

"Because they're so nice," Fuji says. "Does tomorrow work? Around six?"

Taka looks down at his hands. They're big and ungainly and dry and rough. He has little scars decorating his knuckles. "Seven would be better," he says. "After the rush."

"Seven, then." Taka's not sure, but he thinks he can hear Fuji hum happily. "See you tomorrow, Taka-san."

"Okay. Bye."

Fuji hangs up first, and Taka listens to the silence on the other end of the line until the dial tone starts. He tries to go back to doing homework but he can't focus, so he goes downstairs and practices making nigiri. None of it is any good.

Taka's father sends them in the back kitchen when Fuji gets there the next night, because there's a party of businessmen in the restaurant who show no sign of leaving any time soon.

"What do you want me to make?" Taka asks after he's washed his hands. He feels strangely nervous, like when his father stands over his shoulder and watches him work.

"Whatever you want to make, Taka-san," Fuji says, beaming. Taka tries to smile back.

"Okay," he says hesitantly. "I'll make something for you, then."

Fuji likes wasabi and spicy tuna, so Taka pulls out some of both, plus some extra togarashi powder. He hasn't even finished spreading the rice out across the nori before Fuji begins snapping pictures.

Taka can feel his face grow warm. "It doesn't even look like sushi yet, Fuji," he says.

"That doesn't matter." Fuji bends down so his camera is level with the countertop and keeps snapping pictures. Taka knocks over the jar of togarashi and Fuji catches it before it hits the floor. He hands it back to Taka while still looking through the camera lens.

"Thanks," Taka says. Fuji keeps smiling.

Taka smears a line of wasabi across the rice – much more wasabi than he'd ever dare use with a normal customer – and starts to lay out the tuna. The part just before rolling is important, so he forces himself to stop watching Fuji out of the corner of his eye and focus entirely on the sushi. Then Fuji slides up and presses his chest against Taka's back and rests the camera on his shoulder, and Taka squishes the left slab of tuna.

"Fuji!" he says.

"Shh," Fuji says. "Stay still."

His camera is angled downward, pointing at the sushi and Taka's hands. Taka tries to fix the tuna without moving his shoulder too much.

"Don't," Fuji says, and Taka stops immediately.

"But it's –" he protests.

"It looks good like this," Fuji says.

Taka thinks he's never seen anything so terrible-looking in his entire life, but he just frowns and waits for Fuji to step back. After a few seconds, Fuji's camera stops clicking and he still doesn't move. Taka can feel his breath on his neck.

"Fuji?" he says nervously.

"Keep going," Fuji says. His mouth is so close to Taka's ear that he only has to whisper.

Taka swallows and starts to roll up the sushi without even fixing it first. Half the rice is falling out one end and some of the tuna is sticking out too and the left side is more lumpy than the right. Fuji snaps a few more pictures. Taka picks up a knife and starts to cut. His hands are shakier than usual and the sushi looks lumpy and weird and awful, unforgivably awful, and Taka puts down the knife before he's even finished and closes his eyes. He wants to dump the entire cutting board into the garbage.

"I'm going to start over," Taka says. He starts to turn around, only Fuji doesn't step back to make room. Taka stares and Fuji sets his camera down on the counter and presses as close to Taka as possible and reaches behind him to pick up one lopsided, crumbly roll.

"Why?" Fuji asks, inspecting the roll for a moment before popping it into his mouth. Taka can't believe he's eating it. He can't believe he doesn't spit it out. He can't believe his hips are pressing into him like that.

"It tastes perfect, Taka-san," Fuji says.

Taka doesn't reply. His hands grip the edge of the counter and his chest feels tight and panicky and then Fuji loops his arms around his neck. One of Taka's hands slips and he falls back against the counter and bumps his elbow.

"Careful," Fuji says, and he pushes Taka against the counter even harder and kisses him.

Fuji tastes spicy, like wasabi and togarashi, but he also tastes a little like something else, something subtle and comforting, like milk. Taka wants to taste more of it, but he doesn't know how.

"Fuji," Taka starts to say, but then Fuji's tongue is in his mouth and he doesn't try and talk any more. Fuji's hands are stroking his hair and the back of his neck and Taka's hands float cluelessly for a few seconds before he lets them rest on Fuji's back. Fuji hums. Then he reaches down and grabs the front of Taka's pants.

"Fuji!" Taka jumps and Fuji takes a step back and smiles. He picks up his camera and Taka watches, dumbfounded, as he lifts it to his eye and takes a picture.

"For posterity," Fuji says sweetly. "I'd like to photograph more of you later, Taka-san."

Taka feels his flush spread all the way down to his neck. "More?"

"Think about it," Fuji says. He bends over to pick up his camera bag from the floor and packs the camera away, sliding the strap over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Fuji smiles and waves, then walks out the double doors into the restaurant and is gone. Taka lets out a shaky breath and turns around to face the counter again. His sushi is in an even worse state than it was before, strewn across the countertop and half-unrolled and flattened. He picks up a roll and looks at it before dropping it into the garbage can, then picks up the cutting board and dumps all the rest. He's just about to wash the board clean when his father calls his name.

"Takashi! I need you serving!"

"Coming!" Taka rushes to the sink to wash his hands, but he pauses to look at them while waiting for the water to get warm. His fingertips are stained a faint green from the wasabi. He lifts one finger without thinking and sticks it in his mouth. It tastes like Fuji.

"Takashi!"

Taka turns off the tap and hurries into the restaurant.

He forgets to wash his hands.

_end_  



End file.
